


Capturing Her Shadows

by Yahtzee



Series: Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing [2]
Category: Alias
Genre: F/M, Handcuffs, wow wrong bad hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/pseuds/Yahtzee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She knows Jack Bristow murdered Irina Derevko – has known it since before she ever allowed herself to be "persuaded" to join APO – but that only strengthens Nadia's resolve.  She would have been committed to helping her father destroy him, even without that crime. </i></p><p>Her mother will be avenged.  All Nadia has to do is capture her shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capturing Her Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rheanna for the beta!

**Part One**

All the computer records have been destroyed, and nobody has yet catalogued these videotapes. Nadia could transfer them to disc herself, but instead she watches the grainy footage, enjoying the manual control she has over them – fast-forward, reverse, pause. Her face is illuminated by another face on the screen.

"And Bristow never questioned your devotion to him?" says an offscreen voice.

Irina Derevko lifts her chin proudly. "He was too blinded by his own devotion. Laura Bristow was his entire world."

**

"Are you sure we'll be able to control him?" she asks. She has only known Jack Bristow for a few days, but already, she is uncertain.

In her father's smile, Nadia finds approval and understanding. "In fact, I'm sure we won't. Jack is a very difficult man to control. However, he isn't hard to manipulate."

She considers that as the waiter brings their entrees. Fortunately, even Sydney knows about these dinners together, so Nadia can take her time and not even have to lie about where she's been. Sydney is easy to control.

"You mean that you want to bend Jack's will only very slightly," Nadia says at last. "So little that even he doesn't realize it."

"And then his own considerable force of personality will do the rest of the work for us, with Jack believing all the while that he's opposing me, not helping us."

Nadia has no doubts about her father's purpose, and has not since the first moment she laid eyes upon the Sphere of Life. After that, nobody could doubt the transcendence of Rambaldi's glory – or the need to own such power, completely and forever. Given the ends, no means seem abhorrent. "Do you think he trusts you at all?"

"No," her father says. "So you should give every appearance that you distrust me as well."

"Beginning tonight?"

He laughs gently. "Give it a week or two. Besides, it would be a shame to cut our dinner short, don't you think?"

**

Nadia spends hours poring over old photos of her mother as "Laura Bristow." The colors are faded, gone sepia and green with age, but the lines are distinct. Expression and stance and vitality – they're all there.

She knows Jack Bristow murdered Irina Derevko – has known it since before she ever allowed herself to be "persuaded" to join APO – but that only strengthens Nadia's resolve. She would have been committed to helping her father destroy him, even without that crime.

Her mother will be avenged. All Nadia has to do is capture her shadows.

In the Bristows' wedding picture, Laura's hair is gathered back in a soft bun at the back of her neck – smooth and elegant, with tiny pearl earrings shining in her ears. Nadia wears the same style the next day and stands next to Jack as they drink their morning coffee. In a snapshot from 1978, her mother had a tropical flower tucked behind one ear; what should have looked silly instead looked sensual and exotic. Nadia makes sure that she does the same on her next mission in the Caribbean, knowing that Jack is watching her through binoculars. It's his job, after all.

These, of course, are mere tricks – coincidences that Jack might not even recall. But then there are the debriefing files, hours upon hours of videotape during which Derevko describes exactly how to win Jack Bristow's love.

"I knew from the beginning that he wouldn't be interested in anyone soft-spoken or demure." Irina Derevko's smile flashes, bright and quick, from the gray of the videotape. "He has a strong personality, and he's drawn to even stronger ones. To win Jack Bristow, first I would have to challenge him."

So Nadia challenges him.

"If he didn't return in five minutes," Jack says, studying her from behind a table and a monitor during her psych evaluation, "would you go look for him?"

"No."

"If he didn't return in twenty minutes, would you go look for him?"

"Yes, I'd look for her."

As always, when Nadia defies him, Jack's dark eyes reflect something more than appraisal, something that could never be called cold. Her father lied about that – or, perhaps, there are things about Jack Bristow that he doesn't understand. Is he angry that she keeps naming her partner as female – as Sydney, and thereby claiming Sydney for her own?

No, Nadia decides. He doesn't like the reminder that she's a woman.

"Your partner is wounded," Jack says. "You don't think the injury is fatal, but your partner cannot escape with you. Do you stay with her, try to take her with you, or leave her on her own?"

Nadia lets her pulse quicken as she looks into Jack's eyes. He can study the sensor readings later, make what he will of this.

"I wouldn't leave him," she says.

**

"Bristow was lonely," her mother's voice says. The words are scratchy, splintered by the videotape's age. "He led an isolated life. I had to let him think he had chosen to end that isolation. Nobody would coax a response from him; he had to believe it came wholly from himself."

Nobody ever voluntarily takes the chair next to Jack. Nadia starts doing so, every time. She smiles up at him, asks his opinion, listens when he talks. This is generally useful; her father was right about his intelligence. But Jack doesn't consider her a threat – she's not even on his radar – and she is far too good at her work to do anything as obvious as flirting. So Nadia is able to watch as Jack's icy demeanor slowly, slowly thaws.

After a mission, while Sydney and Vaughn and Dixon all laugh about their disguises, she slips into the next room, where Jack sits alone as usual, and says, "I just wanted to mention – good job."

He blinks at her. "I merely devised the strategy. Your team executed it."

"But good strategy." Nadia tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, just as her mother used to; Sydney does it, too, but Nadia thinks the overlapping memories shouldn't be too much of a problem. "I appreciate it. And – Sydney appreciates it. She doesn't show you, but she does. It's just hard for her to say, sometimes."

It takes Jack almost a full minute to nod. "Thank you," he says, and she has no doubt he means it.

She touches his shoulder briefly before she goes out. The rest of the night, she jokes and laughs with Sydney and her friends. Sydney says nothing about her father's strategy, which probably has never crossed her mind. That night, Nadia goes to bed with Eric Weiss, because she has more than one person to deceive in this game. Most of them just don't require as much planning.

**

One evening, when Sydney and Weiss are both in the field, Nadia asks Jack for a ride home. It's a simple matter to invite him to come in for dinner afterward; they order Chinese, which she has it on good authority he likes.

"So, what is it?" Jack says as he wields his chopsticks. He's looking down into the white carton, not at her. "You didn't ask me in for a chat." The last word is pronounced with something only slightly too amused to be contempt.

Nadia doesn't flinch. "I didn't want to just spit it out."

"I'd prefer it if you did."

"What was my mother like?" The silence that follows is terrible, and Nadia wonders if she's blown it. It had seemed worth the risk, to learn about Laura Bristow from Jack's own words. "I'm sorry – I've hurt you –"

"It's all right." He'll tell her now, just to prove that he can. "Why are you asking me?"

"You knew her better than anyone." Nadia studies his face; it's as still and unreadable as ever, but there is something human in his eyes. "You were the one who was married to her for ten years. You were – you were the one she loved."

Jack sets the container of noodles down carefully, as though he thought he might drop it. "If you're sure of that, then you're sure of more than I am."

"It's what she told my father. He pretends it's not true, but – I know."

No wound is ever too old for that balm. Haltingly, Jack tells her about her mother – the classical composers she preferred, the books she curled up with in the afternoons, the way she took her coffee and her tea. Once or twice, Nadia gets caught up in the story and almost feels moved. She pities Jack, really. In a way, she even likes him. If she hadn't seen the Sphere of Life, she might find this work difficult.

Once he starts talking about a journey he and Sydney made to India with Irina Derevko – only a few years ago, after the secrets had been revealed. Nadia pays little attention and steers him back to the distant past as smoothly as she can. It's Laura Bristow she needs to know about; that's the person she needs to become.

**

They continue in these circles for another month more. Jack never opens up without being prodded, and Nadia has to be careful not to push too hard. But even with the few opportunities she has, Nadia learns more about Jack Bristow than she suspects Sydney ever has or ever will. Above all, Nadia learns that he is lonely – so lonely he's almost forgotten that there is any other state of being.

Nadia reminds him.

She spills out her doubts about her father, the ones they scripted together months ago. Jack listens with more sympathy than she would have expected. Obviously, on some level, he's trying to manipulate her too. This is highly prudent of him. But Jack's manipulation is unfocused, without a specific goal; Nadia can tell he's merely trying to take her measure, align her as ally rather than enemy – most likely for Sydney's sake. But he's started too late, and he's underestimated his opponent.

According to her father, underestimating the opponent is one of Jack's classic weaknesses.

His eyes follow her now, when he thinks she doesn't see. Nadia dresses more conservatively, because Jack Bristow isn't a man who'll be aroused by V-necks or a skirt slit up the thigh; he's a man who likes mystery, and she gives him that. Weiss, now inconvenient, is disposed of with a messy argument just before a mission that lets her lock herself in the transport plane's bathroom to cry. When she comes out, eyes red-rimmed, and asks for her next instructions, Jack speaks to her so kindly it's all she can do not to smile.

Within a month, she thinks. A month later, she thinks it can't be another month more. And yet there is still some distance between them – still something she hasn't quite reached. The final key to the innermost lock: This continues to elude her.

Enlightenment arrives unexpectedly, on a mission.

Their contact in Santiago turns out to be a mole for the Covenant; a routine errand ends in gunfire, with running through the dark. Damned high heels, damned stupid short skirt – Nadia throws her red wig in the gutter, for once hating all disguises. As they skid through an underground passage, their footsteps echoing, a blast shatters sound, deafening her. Nadia looks back to see that Jack is limping now as he follows, and the jolt of fear that follows is real. Too much depends on him to lose him now.

Nadia screams in rage – feeling it in her throat, not hearing it – and fires past Jack, blind. The kick of each blast shakes her body, but she keeps firing, illuminating the tunnel in brief bursts of light.

If her victims cry out, she cannot know it, but nobody shoots at them again. She pulls Jack's arm over her shoulders and helps him deeper into the tunnels, until they are truly hidden.

Her ears are ringing too much for her to call for help, but she activates their beacon, holds it down for Jack to see from his place on the ground. He nods shortly, one hand over the wound above his knee.

She kneels by his side, slides one hand across his thigh. Jack grimaces in pain, and his blood is hot against her palm. But the wound's not deep; it's only a graze, and she breathes out in relief.

Jack touches her shoulder – just a small gesture of reassurance, she thinks, no more. After all, she is haggard, hair stuck to her chin and forehead with sweat, gunpowder gritty on her hands.

Then Jack drops his eyes from hers – he can't bear the link – and she knows he wants her. The shock of his desire hits her, success too sudden to be believed, but she thinks it's hit him too. Maybe he didn't know himself, until this instant.

Why now? Why on this mission, when she just screamed in rage and fired a weapon and went into battle and in every other way behaved not at all like Laura Bristow –

\--but, Nadia realizes, very like Irina Derevko.

Jack loved them both. Laura Bristow and Irina Derevko, the two faces of her mother: He loved them both, and all this time Nadia has been foolishly copying one and ignoring the other. But now, at last, the image is complete, and he is hers.

She cups Jack's chin in her hand. His mouth moves, forming her name, but she still can't hear. It's not as if his words matter, anyway.

Nadia lowers her lips to his, but she doesn't touch. Jack must close this last distance between them – he has to choose to end his own solitude. Trembling, she waits, feeling his breath against her cheeks, as Jack slowly, so slowly, kisses her.

The first touch is electric – jolting her blood and her pulse, almost like real arousal. Nadia wonders if betrayal is as good as love; certainly it seems to be more fulfilling. No love she's ever felt made her body respond like this, shaking with need. Jack opens her mouth with his, and she lets him lead the way, learning how he likes to be kissed (deep, slow, wet). His hands tighten on her shoulders, and she wonders what's going through his mind right now. Let Jack Bristow feel all the guilt and confusion he needs; for her purposes, the more upsetting he finds this, the better. But let him want her more than anything, more than reason, beyond restraint.

She frames his face in her fingers, keeps on kissing him, getting caught up in the moment and even anticipating the sex – she hadn't thought she'd enjoy the sex, not until this instant. But now her desire is as real as his – more so. She understands what it is she wants.

His leg's still bleeding; she can feel the sticky heat of it against her calf.

Nadia tugs open his shirt, trails her fingers through the hair on his chest as they kiss again, more intensely this time. Jack's hands – he has such big hands – seem to cover her back, encircle her waist, grip her firmly as they move together so she's straddling him. Then she unbuttons her own blouse, working quickly; she can't give Jack any chance to think about this. The first time has to be fast and hard.

She arches her back, and through the filmy-thin fabric of her bra, Jack sucks at one breast. No time even to take off the bra. Her hands are at his zipper; he's already hard for her. With one tug she pulls her panties to one side, and sinks down onto him, stretching, burning, opening up.

His arms tighten convulsively around her back, but then he's thrusting, moving with her. Nadia lets her head fall forward, so that her cheek brushes against his, sweaty and hot. Vibration against her chest makes her think he's groaned, or maybe said her name. She speeds up, tightening her inner muscles as she goes, grip and release, getting him close. The tempo works for her, too, the rhythm and the heat –

Nadia comes, the climax on her so fast she only knows it as it hits. Her nails dig into Jack's shoulders as she tenses, shivers and lets go. Surprised and dazed, she has no time to wonder at her own reaction before Jack seizes her tighter and thrusts upward hard. A hot, muffled breath against her collarbone reveals his sigh.

Ears still ringing from a gunshot that now seems to have been fired an hour ago, Nadia separates from him. She gives Jack a liquid smile -- and Jack pulls back.

Nadia stares at him, aghast, but then the wall behind her shudders, probably not for the first time. Quickly, they each fumble to refasten their clothes. They only just make it before a hatch swings open to reveal Marcus Dixon. Covering for her proximity to Jack, Nadia gestures at his injured leg; Dixon wastes no time in getting them out of there.

Upon reflection, Nadia doesn't talk to Jack in the cargo plane home. Their eyes only meet once, and the scorching guilt she sees there is all the prize she needs.

**

"It's begun," Nadia says to her father, after debriefing, once they're alone.

"So soon?" His voice isn't as warm or approving as she might have expected. "I hadn't thought – well, that it would be so soon."

"Thanks." But she isn't at all sure that was a compliment.

Perhaps her father is jealous of the time she spends with Jack; perhaps he fears she's losing sight of her goals. He shouldn't worry. But Nadia is just annoyed enough not to tell him this right away; she decides to wait until the next phase of her mission is finally complete. And she might as well make that possible tonight.

A quick cell-phone call reveals that Sydney is spending the night at Vaughn's: perfect. Nadia slips on low-rise jeans and a soft black sweater, all of it perfectly casual except the half-inch of bared skin visible below her belly button. She pulls her hair from its ponytail so that it hangs loose, takes off her earrings at a stoplight. They could tangle, later on, and Nadia doesn't want to give Jack Bristow even a moment to stop and think.

It's a relief not to have to try to look like Laura. She can look like Irina, and perhaps she does that without even trying.

She knocks on his door; he obviously knows who it is even before he answers. "Hi," he says, looking more utterly at a loss than he has since the day she met him.

"How's your leg?" Nadia tucks her hair behind her ear again.

"Ah. Fine. It's going to be fine." He limps only slightly as he steps back from the door, obviously trying to think of an excuse to shut it.

"I'd like to come in," she says softly.

Jack doesn't invite her, but he lets her walk past him. As he shuts the door behind them, Nadia leans back against it, framing her body with his arm. Instead of pulling away, Jack breathes out slowly, staring down into her face. He didn't turn on the hallway light, so they're half in shadow now. In the background, she can hear Glenn Gould playing the Goldberg variations.

He is almost kind as he says, "I don't think we need to talk about what happened."

"Good," Nadia replies. "I didn't come here to talk."

His hand rests on her waist, his thumb brushing against that half-inch of exposed skin. His touch is even warmer than she remembered. Nadia breathes in sharply, creating a small gap between her belly and her jeans; Jack's fingers slip between them, already finding the hard curve of her pelvic bone.

"I didn't want it to come to this," Jack says. His breath is soft against her throat.

"I did." It's the only truth Nadia will ever give him. Their lips meet, and her heart rejoices. Once again, her mother's work is done.

 

**Part Two**

"This can't continue."

Jack is sitting at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees. He looks as if he wants nothing more than to get dressed and flee the scene of the crime – and he probably would, if this weren't his own house.

He's naked, the light from the hallway silhouetting his back, his shoulders, his profile. He looks less vulnerable like this than most men would in their Sunday best; even at his most uninhibited, Jack Bristow always seems to be wearing a suit of armor. Even at her most effective, Nadia knows she hasn't stripped that away from him. She's just found a few chinks. That's enough.

Nadia wraps the sheet around her tightly, even protectively. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

His eyes close, but his posture doesn't change. "I'm speaking of our – relationship. Not judging you."

She rolls over to face the wall. The sheets next to her are still warm, her thighs still sticky. In the two months of their affair, Jack's repentance has descended more and more quickly. It used to take him a day or two, but now he craves confession and escape the way some people do cigarettes, as soon as he finishes.

She whispers, "I don't think you're judging me. I think you're blaming me."

"No, I blame myself."

"Fine, then. Blame yourself. But I'm the one you punish."

Snapping the sheet away, Nadia pushes herself from the bed and snatches up her clothes from the floor. An angry woman would probably forget something, so Nadia leaves her belt and her bra where they fell. She storms into the bathroom without looking back.

Jack says nothing.

Nadia dresses quickly, but she allows herself enough time to consider the ramifications of her actions. Before, she's had as many anguished conversations as Jack needed – whispers by the coffee machine, in the parking lot, on the train. She's good at letting her eyes well with tears, then looking away quickly enough that they can pretend he hasn't seen. But fighting Jack's sense of unease is becoming too time-consuming and counterproductive; Nadia's sick of it. Best they have this out for once and for all.

Besides – Nadia smiles at herself in the mirror, despite her sweaty bed-hair, the pale lips kissed free of their lipstick an hour ago – she's going to win. Jack Bristow will come back to her on his knees, and then everything will be so much more fun.

When did it become fun? Probably, Nadia decides, around about the time they started having sex. She smiles again.

Then she rearranges the angry mask over her features, strides out of the bathroom and makes for the front door. Jack is standing nearby in his bathrobe; their eyes meet for one terrible second, in which she can read all his anguish, all his self-contempt, all his longing. But they exchange no words as she hurries out into the night.

**

"I know the timing is difficult," she says to her father in his office at APO. They are shielded by invisible curtains, anti-eavesdrop devices that steal their words and turn this into any ordinary father-daughter chat. "Is there any way to push back the Tampere meeting with Saari? If I could just have a month –"

"I have no means of contacting Saari. Unless he contacts us in the next two weeks, you and Jack will go to Tampere as planned." Her father looks less dismayed than she would have thought. "I admit, I'm relieved. I don't like to think of you at Jack Bristow's – disposal."

Nadia would have sworn that he was about to say "mercy." But there is something in her father's eyes that is less protective, more possessive, than she would like.

Many things about her father are not quite what she would like. She hasn't let him see that disillusionment; besides, who's really to blame? Herself, for expecting anything good – anything real.

"Jack is at my disposal," she says, thinking of the way he shuddered beneath her last night, the catch in his throat just before he comes. "Soon, he's going to understand that. Once he does, I can resume the affair without having to renegotiate every night."

Not that she dislikes the negotiation – there's something delicious about having to win Jack every time. It makes Nadia aware of her power. But she thinks she'll enjoy cutting to the chase even more.

"Is it necessary?"

She stares at her father. "You might have asked that question two months ago."

He looks back at her, but as he so often does, he seems to be gazing just past her, at a point in the distance. "Jack now believes that he owes you a certain debt. He feels guilty for having used you."

Those words – "used you" – make Nadia uncomfortable, despite the fact that she considers them untrue.

"That means he's already – susceptible to your persuasion. I don't know that resuming your dalliance is likely to improve on the current situation. If anything, it may only make matters more volatile."

"It won't."

Her father cocks his head. "Why are you so unwilling to give Jack Bristow up?"

Nadia feels it like a splash of cold water, dousing her in a single shock to the system. But she pushes aside the chilly grasp of reason and jabs back: "I just gave him up last night. Remember? But I know how to do my job."

For a few moments they're quiet, studying one another. Nadia wonders if her father is as disappointed in her as she sometimes is in him, if he asks as many questions. For her own safety, she hopes not.

"You be the judge," he says at last. "In Tampere, Jack will have the jade half of the Rambaldi key. Before you leave, that key is to be yours. Manage that as you see fit."

Already, Nadia knows she's going to manage it so that she gets to go to bed with Jack again. And for the first time since her seduction began, she is afraid.

For the first time, it feels as though it's out of her control.

**

Jack's eyes meet hers in the hallway, only for a moment. His posture stiffens slightly, as if he were bracing for a blow. She walks close enough to him that their hands could almost touch, but she avoids it – just by a few inches.

She knows Jack will replay that moment a dozen times in his mind, and every time he does, he'll imagine that they touched.

No seduction she could ever offer is as powerful as the force of Jack's own desire. Nadia imagines water wearing away stone.

**

Later that night, as Sydney and Vaughn sleep on the other side of the wall, Nadia paces the floor in her blue satin pajamas, facing facts.

First: She likes making love to Jack. He's good at it; despite her youth, Nadia already knows how to judge whether or not a man can fuck. Granted, Jack doesn't seem to be into some of the more arcane twists and turns of sex; he's never made a move to tie her up or suggested that he'd like to be bound in return, and their encounters haven't included any toys save for a vibrator she offered – which he wields expertly. But there's something to be said for vanilla, when the vanilla has technique and intensity and makes her feel like she's on fire.

So of course she's unwilling to give up a skilled lover. Who wouldn't be?

Second: Acquiring the full Rambaldi key is important. The CIA turned the key over to Jack, not to her father – technically his superior. This is less a measure of the agency's trust in Jack than it is their continuing lack of trust in her father. It's an affront to him, an affront Nadia used to share. Even now, when she sees how grasping her father really is, she understands that the key is important. Without it, the Sphere of Life can never be unlocked.

And it must be unlocked. Nothing is more important than that – not now, not ever.

So Nadia needs to control Jack as completely as possible. She's never felt as in control of him, and of the world around her, as she has during her nights with Jack, as he moves at her tempo, breathes out when she breathes in. It seems impossible to steal the key without controlling him utterly, body and soul.

So seducing him again is tactically smart. She doesn't need any excuses to employ good tactics.

Finally – this is still about her mother, as much for her as it is for Jack. They are both chasing Irina Derevko's shadows: Jack grapples with her memory in the night, trying to pound through Nadia's body to get at the woman he killed, and Nadia is trying to learn her secrets. The Sphere of Life is her only way to find that by now.

So she should continue to wear her mother's role for a while now – Jack and all.

Vaughn snores once, so loudly Nadia can hear it through the wall. She flops onto the mattress and puts a pillow over her head, but it doesn't really muffle the noise. If only she were at Jack's tonight –

But thoughts like that are the dangerous ones, the ones that make Nadia wonder if she's awakened a hunger she can't control. She wants Jack Bristow, maybe even as much as he wants her. Even if tactical reasoning backs this decision up – tactics don't have a damned thing to do with it. And that's not a place she ever, ever meant to be.

She has to get him back, but more than that, she has to take control again.

**

The next day she wears a simple blue suit that she knows Jack likes. After briefing, she arranges it so that they're the last two left in the room.

For a while, the silence stretches out between them, uncomfortable in the extreme – but Jack makes no move to leave. Nadia pretends to look at some files, but it's not necessary for Jack to think that's anything but a stall. At last he says, "I'm sorry. My behavior was – inexcusable."

Nadia breathes in deeply. "There are men who treat prostitutes with more respect."

"For the last time – I don't blame you for what's happened between us." Jack can't even look directly at her, but he's aware of her, so aware. His posture unthinkingly mirrors her own: one hand on the table, the other by his side, each of them leaning ever so slightly toward the other. "You are my wife's daughter and my daughter's sister. That makes this relationship –"

"If it's a relationship," Nadia pronounces that word with care, "then categories shouldn't count."

"They do count. We can't pretend that they don't."

"I wasn't pretending." It feels real when she says it.

Jack bows his head slightly. The weight of his burden seems to be pushing him down. Did Laura ever make him feel like this? Nadia doubts it – all the more reason she dislikes this necessity. She doesn't like being off-script.

Maybe Irina made him feel like this, but it must have been in such a frame of mind that Jack Bristow murdered her. There's a limit to how far Nadia means to carry the likeness.

She whispers, "I miss you. I miss you all the time. I can't sleep at night, for wanting you there."

The flash of pain in his eyes tells her that Jack hasn't slept well either. "Don't ask me to –"

"I'm not asking. I'll never ask you to take me back. Never." He has to know it's his responsibility to come to her. Nadia adds, "I just want you to know how I feel."

She walks away, and he lets her go. But she can feel his loneliness and his doubt, following her out of the room as surely as his gaze.

**

"Certainly your early work with Bristow was flawless, Comrade Derevko. But – later –"

On the videotape, her mother's demeanor changes slightly. The confident woman on the earlier tapes – the only ones Sydney and Jack Bristow have ever seen – seems to get lost in the grainy black-and-white of this tape, one of the later ones that only her father possesses. Nadia leans closer, the light from the television screen playing across her forehead and cheeks.

"Later, your loyalties became, shall we say, confused."

"Nyet." Good, Nadia thinks, use Russian when you're upset. Convince him the Soviet Union is still your home. She wants her mother to win, as though it were possible, or could matter anymore. "My loyalty to my country was never shaken."

"But when you were asked to slip a poison into your husband's food –"

"I disobeyed." Irina Derevko's chin lifts. "Bristow was still of use to us. The revelations the following month proved that."

"Yes, yes. The kill order was premature. But there has been speculation that you disobeyed for other reasons. Emotional reasons."

"I had doubts, of course. Bristow was nothing to me, but my child –" Irina hesitates, thinking not of Nadia within her body, but of Sydney, already left behind. "—I had always expected her to grow up in her father's care."

She had no such expectations for Nadia, of course. Either Sloane didn't deserve it, or Nadia didn't.

Nadia hits pause and stares for a while at her mother's face. She loves her still – she cannot help but love her – but she doesn't know her. Did anyone? Ever?

Jack, maybe. Long ago.

Remembering him as he was earlier that day, bowed and sad, Nadia wonders if she could trace her mother's shape along Jack's scars.

**

_Tampere, Finland_

 

Sunset falls at 4 p.m. They are far enough from the water in Tampere that the Baltic chill doesn't quite cut to the bone – but it's too bitter to snow.

Reknotting her crimson muffler around her neck, Nadia whispers, "Saari should have showed by now."

"Yes." Jack says it in that drier-than-dust voice that means you've just said something far too stupid to be spoken aloud. She scowls, and perhaps in apology, Jack adds, "We're still inside our safety window. Be patient."

Nadia is out of patience. Somewhere in Jack's things – probably in the green backpack he carries, the one that screams "American tourist" – is the jade key she's waited half a year to get. In the pack around her waist – the one that screams "tourist" even louder than Jack's backpack – is the onyx key that serves as its mate, as well as the fake jade key she intends to swap for the genuine article tonight. Separately, each key is useless: a pretty bit of carving, no more.

Together, they unlock the greatest mystery Irina Derevko ever chased. Those keys will be together again, today.

Jack remains by her side as they stroll along the riverside. For a few moments, she amuses herself by wondering if passers-by take them for lovers or for father and daughter. But even this diversion can't mask her frustrated calculations for long.

Saari would do anything for a look at that jade key: lie, cheat, steal, kill. Therefore, he'd probably be willing to show up on time. That means that either Saari always meant to double-cross them, or –

"Keep walking," Jack says, even as she notices the movement on a nearby rooftop. She doesn't need to make out the shape to know it's a gunman.

Breezily, as if it were part of the role, she takes Jack's hand as they start to walk closer to the river. Everything in her wants to duck or run – her skin on the back of her neck feels scorching hot, as though the rifle's laser sights were burning through to bone – but she doesn't break her stride. If they run, they're dead.

"Is it Saari?" she asks.

"I think it's the person who killed him. We should get to the bridge."

If they can get to the bridge and duck beneath it, they stand a pretty good chance. "Almost there."

His hand tightens around hers as he leads her toward safety.

They leave the smooth sidewalk for the narrower cobblestone path along the water; their feet hit the ground as one, in perfect tempo, creating only one set of footsteps. The frost-crisp grass crackles beneath her boots. Jack is looking dead ahead, like a good agent. Nadia's not as experienced, but ironically that's why Nadia sees the second shooter darting out from behind the red Saab.

She tackles Jack, and they fall to the ground hard. It seems to Nadia that she sees the bullet hit the earth next to them before she hears it, dirt spattering into the air. Awkward with his backpack, Jack struggles to get up – then rolls on top of her, acting as a shield. Just as their eyes meet, she hears the second shot and feels the impact in the shudder of his body against hers.

"No!" But the word has no sooner left her mouth than Jack rolls back again, pulling them both beneath the bridge. He pulls them both to their feet in the shield of the bridge's stone arch.

As Nadia stares, he says, "It hit the backpack. Get the gun."

She goes for the backpack, seeing the rip in the nylon. With one hand, she fishes out the gun, which appears to be undamaged; with the other, she palms the jade key and replaces it with the fake. Then Nadia whirls around, unloading her entire clip at the dark shapes that dared shoot at her, that dared shoot at Jack, and she doesn't stop firing until they're both dead.

**

That night, in her hotel room, Nadia sits, trembling, on the foot of the bed. The two keys – jade and onyx, light and dark – are together at last, in the center of the white-and-gold silk scarf she holds in her hands. She manages to knot the scarf's corners together, keeping the keys safe. When she gets to Los Angeles, she and her father will go into the heart of the CIA, extract the Sphere of Life and learn the truth at last.

Nadia tucks the silken bundle into her duffel bag. Her work is done. She ought to feel elated; she should be experiencing satisfaction, not – anticipation.

Still she feels Jack's body against hers as he rolled over to shield her; just that flash of contact has set her pulse racing, far more than the attack itself. He saved her – he would have died for her, if it had come to it. And because of that, she knows – she KNOWS – he will come to her tonight.

Sleeping with Jack is not necessary, she tells herself. I already have the jade key. My work is done.

To hell with necessity. To hell with what her father would say. Jack is coming for her, and Nadia can't wait.

She pulls off the bulky sweater and jeans so that she's wearing only a black T-shirt and thong. It's too cold – the trembling isn't all adrenalin now – but there's no point in putting on anything else. Jack's going to come soon.

Step by step, she prepares the room; blankets are pulled back on the bed, the lamp turned down so that this spare, black-and-white room almost seems to glow gold. Nadia shakes her hair free of its twist and pours herself a glass of wine from the minibar. She doesn't need the drink – she loves the edge she's got right now – but she thinks Jack will like to taste it on her lips.

Put the condoms she packed in the bedside table? No. Having them is simply prudent, part of making her luggage contents look like a real tourist's, but getting them ready gives away too much. He'll know she was waiting, and she wants Jack to think he's taking her by surprise.

At that moment, the phone rings. Nadia waits for the second ring, then sits down and answers. It's Jack, who says, haltingly, "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm okay. A little shaken up, I guess." Nadia leans against the headboard. On the other side of that wall, Jack wants her. Maybe not even eight inches away. "You protected me. Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me."

Nadia whispers, "I want to."

They're quiet together for a while. She can hear only his breathing on the other end of the line. Even the pretense of a conversation is over; they're both hanging on just because they can't bear to let go.

Slowly, Nadia lowers herself onto the bed, knowing Jack can hear the shift of fabric and mattress over the phone. He exhales heavily, and the sound of it makes her blood race.

"Nadia – I have no right to ask you this –"

"It's okay." She closes her eyes, wishing she could tear through the wall right now. "Just ask."

"I'd like to come over."

It's not exactly a question, but they both know what he means. Forcing herself to play the game, Nadia replies, "It can't just be for tonight."

Jack's voice deepens as it breaks. "I can't give you up."

Surrender. The intoxicating rush of victory and desire makes Nadia's head reel. "Yes."

The phone clicks off. She can hear his door, his footsteps in the hall. With one shaky hand, Nadia pushes the wineglass further from the bed – she's shattering her promises to her father and her own invulnerability and Jack's spirit and everything else, but she doesn't want the wine to spill –

The door swings open, silhouetting Jack's form in the hallway light for the half-second it takes him to slam it behind him. Pictures shudder on the walls. Nadia gets to her feet only a moment before Jack seizes her, hands clamping down on her arms so fiercely it hurts. It's as though he were going to shake her, but instead he kisses her, tongue plunging inside, both of them breathing so hard it makes it difficult for the kiss to keep going.

But it does. Nadia winds her arms around his neck, and he gets her face in his hands so he can angle her that way and this, trying every combination of sensations, as though he were trying to get the kiss right. He's shaking too. Nadia claws at his back through his undershirt, unhooks his belt.

"I need you," he whispers against her cheek. She tugs off his undershirt. He slips his fingers beneath the band of her thong, then with a harsh snap, rips the fabric in two. Her skin stings, but Nadia kind of likes that.

"Why did you make me wait so long?" Nadia unzips his trousers and lets them fall, dips her fingers into the fly of his boxers. The skin of his cock is hot against her now-slick palm. "Did you want me to beg?"

"You don't have to – Nadia --"

"I would have begged you." She sits on the low bed, looking up at him with her lips parted. "Don't you want to know how?"

Jack's only response is run his fingers through her hair, then clutch hard. Nadia opens her mouth and takes him in. She's missed this, the way she has to open wide, the velvet of the head against her tongue, even – especially – the groan he can't quite suppress.

"Stop," he whispers, just as he's getting her lips slick.

"I don't want to stop." He must feel her breath against his skin.

"I need you to stop."

Nadia looks up at him again, longing and teasing – but Jack pushes her onto the bed, so hard her neck snaps back. Then he's on top of her, kissing her hungrily, pinning her hands to the bed, the pressure of his cock hot against her thigh. They get messy then, rushed and desperate; her T-shirt tangles around her arms, and he makes a short, impatient sound as he struggles to kick his boxers away. But then they're finally naked, skin on skin, and Jack encloses her in the frame of his arms and face. His kisses are even harder, more demanding.

"You're mine," Nadia murmurs, twisting beneath him as he kisses his way down her throat, along her collarbone. His breath is warm against her breast. "You belong to me."

Jack teases her for a few moments with his tongue, then sucks so sharply it almost hurts. His teeth scrape against her nipple, but the pain is only enough to give an edge to her pleasure. Already reeling from the completeness of his surrender, Nadia draws her legs up either side of his body.

He pulls his mouth away with a wet pop, kisses her one more time, then rubs the tip of his cock against her, heat on heat. But as soon as she can feel him probing at her, he swears. "Is there – do you have –"

"My bag. They're in there, hurry –"

Maybe he's gone from her for five seconds; it goes fast, the rustle of fabric and the rip of foil, but it's still too damn long. Nadia half-sits up as he rejoins her; she bites his shoulder, bearing down, as their hands work together, pull and roll and he's ready, at last, at last –

Jack pushes inside her, with so much force it hurts at first – but Nadia's glad. They can take it slow some other time. She bites her lip and arches so that he can get in even deeper. She can see the red marks on his skin from her bite, the shadows their bodies cast on the far wall. Nadia watches Jack's shadow shifting from gray to black to gray in the rhythm of their movement, the thin lines of her arms as they pull him down.

"Yes." It's her voice, urging him on. So he speeds up, thrusts more vigorously, takes her as hard as she can bear, and yet he keeps going. Nadia can feel the hot burn of arousal whirling inside her; she's not on the verge of coming, but it still feels so good.

His fingers lock into her flesh, and then he comes, his face contorting into a grimace that looks like pure pain. Nadia could almost laugh out loud. He's hers, now, always.

As soon as he's pulled out, Jack slides across the bed, pulling Nadia with him by her hips. Once he's kneeling on the floor, he settles his mouth over her, bathing her with his tongue. She gasps as his lips start sucking in just the right place, a small circle of heat and pressure that opens and closes, up and down, making her head and blood swirl. Maybe she's closer than she thought. Nadia covers his hands with her own and moves, just a little bit, to guide him. Jack takes the hint, moves with her, sucks a tiny bit harder, and then she's there – falling into the shadows, letting go of it all.

Afterward, he tucks them both beneath the covers, folding her head against his chest. No regrets like cigarettes; Jack holds her tightly, as though he never wanted them to be any farther apart than they are right now.

"I missed you," Nadia whispers. It's true, but she'll deal with that later.

"I won't let you go." He seems to be speaking to someone else, someone who's trying to divide them. "I can't."

"You don't have to." Maybe that can be true, too.

**

Nadia wakes up alone.

She stretches, feeling the pleasant soreness of the night before. Jack's absence from her hotel room doesn't alarm her; he'd need to call APO, probably, and might as easily have chosen to do so from his own room, so as not to wake her. Or maybe he's getting her breakfast. He does that, sometimes.

Grinning, loose and silly, Nadia glances at the still-full glass of wine on the bedside table. She'll have it for breakfast if Jack doesn't come through. What does it matter? All day, she's going to be punch-drunk and giddy.

As she slowly gets dressed, putting on the first things she touches without paying a bit of attention, Nadia considers her father's anger and inquisitiveness if she reveals that she resumed the affair after she stole the jade key – after it could do them any good. All at once, she decides she's sick of his questions. This is her game as much as his, the Sphere of Life destined for her, not for him. Sloane never has to know why she took Jack to bed, any more than Jack does.

Once in her T-shirt and jeans, Nadia glances down in the duffel, hoping to find her black headband. She sifts through everything, and sees it –

\--but she doesn't see the white-and-gold scarf.

She tenses, then rifles through the bag again, then again, even more quickly. No scarf. No jade key and no onyx key either, both of them stolen.

"Jack," Nadia whispers, in equal parts rage and awe.

He didn't do it this morning. It would have made too much noise, he couldn't have been certain she wouldn't awaken. No, he stole it last night -- not after their lovemaking but during it. While she lay on her back, panting for him, he grabbed the condoms with one hand and folded the scarf and keys into his fallen clothes with another. Then he returned to bed and finished what he'd started.

When did he know? How did he know? None of that matters, Nadia realizes, not compared to one stark truth:

Jack has played her for a fool.

Her cheeks burn with shame; at the same time, though, there's a kind of admiration that glimmers through. Even now, with the knife in her back, she realizes Jack's game is well-played. Maybe he feels the same way. He left her alive, so maybe he does.

But professional respect only goes so far. Nadia has a job to do, and Jack Bristow has just put himself in her way.

She stalks to the doorway and opens it; already, the cleaning staff are working in Jack's abandoned room. He might have reached Helsinki by this point. On the other hand, he might have headed in another direction, trying to shake her off his tail.

Either way, she's going to find Jack right now.

Nadia loads her gun, the bullets cool and smooth against her fingertips. When it locks into place, she smiles. Time to visit her lover.

**Part Three**

Nadia has to make certain decisions now, and quickly. It's like gambling at Monaco, she thinks: The possibilities spin like numbers on a roulette wheel, and only the very best players can hope to do any better than pure chance. Stakes are high. Time is short.

Fortunately, Nadia is one of the very best players. And she thinks – no, she knows – that as much as Jack may have figured out, he doesn't know this about her yet. She knows how to hunt.

Point One: Go after Jack alone or inform her father and arrange for backup? Nadia settles this question quickly, even before she's done hotwiring a Fiat for her use. She'll do this on her own. Her father would upbraid her for letting Jack Bristow see through her, adding his stinging words of disapproval to her own considerable shame, but that isn't what holds her back.

For the first time, Nadia is irrevocably off the path Sloane laid out for her. She thinks she'll make her own way for a while and see what the day brings.

Point Two: Where is Jack going? There's no way he's headed back to Los Angeles; it's tactical suicide. He knew she would have the onyx key – therefore, he probably knows about the errand she planned to run after this was all over. Jack means to rendezvous with her contact and get his own chance at unlocking the Sphere of Life.

As Nadia moves out of Tampere onto the highway, she shifts into a higher gear and scowls at the open road. It's too bad she doesn't know who her contact is or where this person might be. Damn her father's need for secrecy.

Jack got to the bottom of this, somehow. Nadia should have investigated on her own as well, but it's too late now. She'll have to bluff her way through it.

Three clicks on the cell phone, and her father's voice sounds sleepy. What time is it in Los Angeles? She can't remember.

"Jack called earlier," he says. "He suspects nothing. Well done."

Well done, Nadia repeats in her mind as she imagines Jack's face. "I'm sure Jack's told you that I arranged for us to leave Finland separately. So I'm clear to make the rendezvous."

She has to steer through a roundabout, and the distraction is welcome; if she guessed wrong about Jack's call to her father – if Jack said one word too much – the game may be up, this moment. If her father realizes she's playing him now, Nadia will have to give up her pursuit of Jack and start running for her life.

Instead, her father tells her to go to Moscow. A woman named Larisa will be waiting for her tomorrow morning in a park only half a mile from Nadia's mother's grave.

Her mother's murderer means to get there first. Nadia won't let him.

"See you in L.A.," she says breezily to her father as she steers her car toward Helsinki and the airport. He wishes her a safe journey. Nadia wonders if he'll ever do that again. If he finds out that she just lied to him, probably not.

Point Three: Will Jack expect Nadia to pursue him? After careful consideration, she decides – probably not. He probably expects her to admit defeat and go home to be scolded by her father, while others from APO move to apprehend him. Jack is more likely to be on the lookout for Sydney; it would be just like her father to frame Jack for wrongdoing, then stick the knife in deeper by having Sydney apprehend him. Nadia prefers simpler forms of revenge.

So Jack will be watching his back, but he won't be watching for Nadia. It's nice to think that she's regained some measure of the element of surprise.

**

She begins her flight to Moscow thinking about her mother, about the way she looked on those videotapes after the tide of questioning had turned against her. In the space of a few days, Irina Derevko changed from conqueror to captive; after ten years of nearly flawless deep-cover work, her masters turned on her and tore her down.

They stole Nadia and her mother from each other. Was it the greatest tragedy of Irina's terrible life? Or was that the moment when the man Irina deceived – the man she protected for Sydney's sake – murdered her in the coldest blood?

At times, Nadia finds it hard to believe that Jack could've done such a thing. But those are their long nights together lying to her, making her weak. Her father has played the sound files of Sydney and Jack arguing about it; independently, Nadia has examined the files and determined they aren't doctored. If it doesn't seem like Jack – all that tells her is that there are sides of him he doesn't let her see.

Of course, last night was proof enough of that.

When she thinks of last night, it's more than shame burning her cheeks. Nadia can still feel the bruises on her arms, the soreness of her thighs; his – deception – was thorough. And even knowing what she knows now, Nadia would allow herself to be deceived again. She hates herself for this truth, but it's in her, all the same.

Then Nadia remembers their first night together – their hurried coupling in the tunnel, Jack's blood hot against her leg, their clothes only tugged aside as much as necessary. She thinks of the way his hands tensed against her skin, the desperation in his eyes before he kissed her the first time.

When did Jack realize the truth? She's sure of only one thing: He didn't know then. Not that first night.

Everything else between them has been a lie, but this sexual – call it compulsion – is mutual and real.

**

_Moscow, Russia_

 

The last time Nadia was here, she was weeping real tears for the mother she'd lost, listening to Sydney tell her lies. Despite everything, Nadia has become fond of Sydney; even now, with her gun heavy in its holster against her side, she understands how somebody might lie for Jack. She makes a deal with the Sydney in her mind: She won't blame Sydney for all her deceit if Sydney won't blame Nadia for killing her father.

It's a long shot, but then – she forgave Jack for killing their mother, didn't she? Sydney appears to be able to justify whatever suits her.

Late afternoon – sundown. Jack has a whole night to kill before Larisa Kapusta will show up in Gorky Park. Where might he spend that night? Nadia considers the possibilities in depth, choosing and rejecting various hotels and a CIA safe house.

But only after dark has fallen does Nadia realize the single most outrageous place he could go – the greatest desecration he would be capable of, ever. She takes in a long, shaky breath and wonders if it could be possible. Then she decides never to underestimate the coldness of Jack's blood again.

She goes. She finds him. He doesn't hear her walk in – or if he does, he doesn't turn.

"Does it give you closure?" Nadia says, not minding if her voice echoes against the marble. Let the whole world hear. "Do you have a sense of – accomplishment?"

To his credit, Jack doesn't flinch. He just keeps staring down at the mausoleum crypt, and the plaque with her mother's name in Cyrillic letters. "I didn't think Sloane would send you."

"Obviously."

"It would never occur to him that I might come here." Jack sounds more defeated than he ever has. He hasn't even tensed up, even though he must know that Nadia has a gun and is longing to use it.

Cast-iron racks of candles flicker all around them, prayers going up to heaven from red votives, fogged dark with smoke and time. Small shadows of Jack and Nadia flicker on the walls, angles and edges varying with the wavering of hundreds of tiny lights. Someone only looking at the shadows wouldn't know how far apart they were standing, perhaps not even if they were looking at one another or not. Nadia remains focused on his back, the area of his black wool coat just between the shoulder blades, where she'd aim the gun.

But if Jack's smart – and he is – he doesn't have the keys on him. She'll have to get them from him, and that's going to require the kind of tactics she can't employ here.

Nadia walks until she's just a few steps behind Jack, so that they're standing before her mother's grave together. Irina Derevko has always been the third person in the room with them; at last it's literally true. The only person who would ever have found him here, Nadia realizes, is Sydney – and Sydney might have been moved by the sight of her father "mourning" her mother. Is there no limit to his calculation?

"You're going to come with me." She has all the authority that comes from holding the gun at his back.

"Do it here." Jack half-shrugs. "No security cameras, and I suspect you could outrun the guards. I – would rather you did it here."

It's not bravado; he means it. Jack's not a suicidal man, she knows, but apparently he thinks she's on the verge of murdering him, and he has made one final choice. One statement. And in this instant, Nadia realizes that the man who is willing to die at her mother's feet isn't at all the man she thought she was dealing with.

"I want to talk," she says slowly. "So you're going to come with me."

Jack lifts his head, as though he'd like to look over his shoulder at her, but he's smart enough to know she won't allow that. "All right."

They walk out in silence, Nadia always a few steps behind. A group of mourners give her sympathetic glances of fellow-feeling, and for some reason, it brings a lump to her throat.

**

She rented the hotel suite earlier in the day, sparing no expense. There is a large living room, thick with paintings and old, carved furniture. It's better not to do this near a bed; Nadia needs her head clear. Motioning Jack to an enormous wooden chair that seems to be a relic of czarist days, Nadia reaches into her trenchcoat pocket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. Jack doesn't resist as she cuffs his right wrist to one of the arms of the chair. Although the chair isn't bolted to the floor, it's so heavy it might as well be; he's not going anywhere.

Nadia gives Jack a few minutes to absorb that fact, then goes to the hotel safe. Showing Jack her gun, she then puts it in the safe and shuts the door. Of course, she knows the combination (and Jack could crack it in less than a minute), but neither of them could reach the weapon quickly.

He raises one eyebrow. "Are you going to strangle me? I know you prefer a hands-on approach."

She doesn't rise to the bait. "I told you I want to talk. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Right?"

"Talk."

Snapping off the overhead light so that they're illuminated by only one lamp, Nadia sits, cross-legged, on the floor in front of him. The position inverts the real balance of power in the room; it might throw Jack off his game a little. "You said you didn't think my father would send me. You were right."

He cocks his head. "You came on your own?" When she nods, he says, "You could simply have devised this plan together. A second act for your play."

"Do you think my father is that forgiving?"

After a few moments of silence, Jack shakes his head. "You came alone. He won't be happy, Nadia. One lesson you could have learned from Sloane; revenge can always wait until business is done."

"This isn't about you," she snaps. "This is about the Sphere of Life. I want it. You want it. My father wants it. I can't get it without you, and I think you'll have a harder time getting it without me. And there's no reason my father ever has to possess it again, at all."

Jack is studying her intently, but his expression is more unreadable than ever. "You think I'll work with you – against Sloane."

"We share the same goal. We want to read the prophecies hidden in the Sphere of Life. There's no reason we can't both do that. And the contact – that person is expecting to meet me, not you. Save yourself the explanation and the risk. Cut me in."

"Your strategy is sound, except for one small difficulty. I don't believe you." His smile is unpleasant. "You've been willing to do whatever Sloane asked you to do, until now. Your – zeal – knows no limits."

This is her cue to snap back how much she hated having sex with him; Nadia has no intention of telling such a weak lie. She's more interested in how Jack said that – there's real fury there, but not directed at her. Jack is angriest with himself. "Satisfy my curiosity," she says. "When did you know? You hadn't guessed at first." His eyes darken, and she can't resist a wicked grin. "No. You hadn't."

"Your acting talents don't match your mother's. I had – wondered. So many similarities, so many familiar habits. The flower in your hair was a nice touch, by the way. But the thing I couldn't accept – the one thing I couldn't wrap my mind around – was the idea of a father whoring out his own daughter. I let myself believe that not even Sloane could reach those depths. I'd thought I was past having any romantic illusions about your father, but I was wrong."

Nadia laughs at him as she rises to her feet. "Can't you? I see how Sydney's dressed for her missions. Half of our work is done on the basis of your daughter showing her body to men whose motives aren't any purer than yours. In your way, you whore her out just as surely –"

Jack's on his feet in half a second; Nadia only has time to register the motion before she feels his fist slam into her jaw. She stumbles, but keeps her footing and backhands him hard enough that he half-sits, half-falls back into the chair. They're both breathing heavily, but neither of them speaks.

Licking blood from her lips, Nadia works to regain mastery of her temper. It's her fault, anyway, for forgetting Jack is left-handed.

"I knew," Jack says thickly, "a few nights before I arranged for you to leave me."

A few nights. They'd been together every night that week. Did he keep up the pretense just to play her? Somehow, Nadia doesn't believe that. She thinks he wanted her badly enough to take her even when he knew he was being played. Interesting. Nadia studies him in the soft light, feeling both her anger and her power coalescing into something even more volatile and dangerous. "Did you like fucking me better after you knew the truth? Or before?"

His jaw clenches, but he doesn't answer. She likes his square jaw, the deep cast of his eyes. There's something about him now – bloodied from her hand, chained to his chair, but still Jack, still strong and almost formal in his black coat – something drawing a response from her, even now. But thinking that reminds her that she has reasons to hate this man, reasons she'd do well to remember.

"You murdered my mother. I've always known."

He hadn't expected that; she can tell, though he covers his surprise quickly. "I suspect you don't know why."

"Because she wanted my father. Because she betrayed you, and you couldn't accept that she fooled you again, and because you finally got a chance at revenge –"

"Stop." Jack looks like he'd enjoy punching her again, but Nadia is standing outside arm's reach. "None of that is true."

"You're saying she never betrayed you? That would be –"

"She tried to kill Sydney."

Nadia stares at him. It's so outrageous that it can't be a lie.

Her mother wanted to kill her sister? It's unimaginable. Sydney is – oh, self-centered sometimes, and ridiculously idealistic, but – she's Sydney, warm and loving and always believing in the next chance, the new beginning. Nadia meant to hate Sydney, but she loves her, just a little bit, which means her mother must have loved Sydney a lot. And yet – Nadia believes Jack.

She draws in a breath that hurts, as though her lungs didn't want to allow her to take in air. "Why – why would our mother –"

"I don't know!" Jack explodes. The anguish in his voice is so naked that it startles her, even more than his revelation did. He pulls himself together in an instant, but still the words break as he continues, "I don't know, and I can't imagine. Irina loved Sydney. I don't know anything else about her, not – beyond doubt -- but I know that."

"You think it's in the prophecies." Realization dawns on her, quick and sure. "That's why you want the Sphere of Life. You want to know why our mother tried to – hurt Sydney."

Jack nods. "What do you want? Power? Glory? Eternal life?"

"None of that." Nadia's never tried to explain it to anyone; her father always seemed to understand without explanations, but now she wonders if they think the same way about it at all. "Rambaldi – he's in my blood, Jack. Literally. He speaks to me, and I have to listen. I know that I'm meant to read what's written within the Sphere. I know that beyond doubt."

They study one another in silence. A thin line of red trickles from the corner of Jack's mouth; Nadia reaches out and smudges it away with her thumb. He doesn't flinch from her touch. She wonders if he likes it, just a little. She wants him to like it.

Finally he says, "I don't have any reason to trust you."

Nadia raises an eyebrow. "Except for the fact that you're still alive."

Jack tilts his head, acknowledging that. "You don't have any reason to trust me."

"Do you want me to prove it?" An idea flickers up in her, intoxicating and bright. "I can prove it."

Without waiting for an answer, Nadia kneels beside the chair and unlocks the handcuffs. Jack rubs his wrist – then stares as she clicks the metal around her own hand.

"I trust you, Jack." Nadia's tongue touches the corner of her mouth. She can still back out of this – but she doesn't want to. He's staring at her with all his intensity, focusing only on her – specifically, the spot on her lips she just brushed with her tongue. Temptation could never make Jack Bristow forget himself, but it could make him remember her. She thinks he's spent as much time remembering their nights together as she has.

Nadia slides down so that she's lying on the floor. Looping the chain around the leg of the chair, she puts the key between her lips, then slips her other hand into the cuff.

Jack could, of course, walk out and leave her alone and humiliated. He could unlock the cuffs and insist that this isn't the kind of partnership they're going to have. But Nadia doesn't think he's going to do either of those things.

She's beginning to get an idea of how much between them wasn't a lie, after all.

Slowly, Jack lowers his hand to her face and takes the key between two fingertips. His skin brushes against her lips. As he sets it atop a nearby table, Nadia watches him from below, the dark sweep of his coat as he throws it aside, the tug as he loosens his tie. When Jack kneels by her side, her heart is already pounding; her upraised arms have raised her shirt, exposing just enough belly for him to trail his fingers across, slowly.

"I didn't expect this," he says, brushing across her navel.

"I don't suppose you did." It takes all Nadia's self-control not to arch into his touch like a cat. "Didn't you realize I liked taking you to bed?"

"I always knew you liked it." Jack thumbs open the button of her jeans, then pulls down the zipper so slowly she can hear it opening tooth by tooth. "When a man has to ask himself if his wife of ten years ever really wanted to be in his bed – female response becomes something of an obsession."

Jack tugs her jeans down; Nadia lifts her hips to help him. He drops one kiss on the soft swell covered by her panties' white lace. She shivers, but Jack is already sitting upright, studying her again. Shadows fall across half his face as he pulls off the tie, opens his shirt at the neck.

"I had to know how to tell, absolutely, if a woman's pleasure was real." His hand traces circles atop that lace before tangling his fingers in the waistband. "Every way possible to give it to her. How to deny it."

As he pulls her panties down, Nadia whispers, "Are you going to deny me?" Surely he can already feel how wet she is for him; she's going to be hard to deny. The carpet is rough against her bare skin; all she has on now is her long-sleeved T-shirt.

"I think so." Jack's voice is strained, rough both with anger and with something better. "This is about you proving something to me."

"Maybe you have something to prove, too."

The taunt does its work; Jack pins her arms to the floor, hard, and the light in his eyes changes. "Let's prove it."

He kisses her once, roughly, his teeth raking across her tongue and lips. The kiss tastes like blood. Nadia tries to draw him in, but he pulls away. His hands part her thighs, his grip strong enough to bruise. She hears the purr of his zipper and knows he won't go for the condom this time. Given all the risks she's taken today, it's strange that this is what makes her heart pound in her chest – though maybe that's not the reason she's trembling.

Jack begins pushing inside – going slowly, so slowly, that it makes Nadia want to scream. She pulls against the cuffs, as though she could tug herself free, grab him, make him fuck her harder and faster. If he'd do that, she could come; she could come right now. But the cuffs hold, of course. Nadia likes reminding herself that she's at Jack's mercy now.

It takes him forever to get all the way in. Jack takes his time. Nadia tries to angle herself to hurry him, but Jack just pins her leg to the ground – he wants her wide-open and motionless, unable to please herself in any way. Yet he can't stop the warm burn of her body as she opens to him, the dizzying rush that sweeps through her as he starts to move. That's hers; Jack can't take it away.

Taking his weight on his arms, Jack lifts himself over her, so that their bodies barely touch except where they're joined. It intensifies the sensation, that and the slow, slow movement in and out again, so that Nadia tilts her head back.

"You like that," he murmurs.

She gulps in a breath. "So do you. I didn't think you were this kinky, Jack."

"I didn't think you were." Nadia could laugh from sheer pleasure, but then he drives into her more forcefully, and the laughter is forgotten. He lowers his face until it's just above hers. "There's a lot you don't know."

He keeps going – speeding up until she's on the brink with him, then taking it back, regaining his control. Nadia wants to weep from frustration, but at the same time, the rhythm does something to her, bouncing her about, making her giddy and sweaty and light. Spreading her legs further open, so wide it almost hurts, Nadia watches Jack through a haze of need.

Every once in a while, she tugs at the cuffs, feeling her pulse against the metal. Every time she does, she sees a small, grim smile on Jack's face.

This is about control. Does Jack understand how much power he's given her, that it's as much as she's given him? Maybe so. Maybe not. Nadia doesn't care, as long as he's inside her.

At last he thrusts into her hard, once more, then groans so deeply Nadia can feel it in her bones. Within an instant, he's pulled out, his cock hot and slick against her belly. Nadia, still on the brink, is shaking for her release – but she'll wait, if Jack wants her to wait. That's the price of this deal.

"Do you want me to beg?" she whispers, remembering that she said almost the same thing to him last night, thinking she was the one in control.

"Yes."

"Please." Nadia swallows hard; she's thirsty, and she's hot, and her body wants this so much her pride doesn't matter. "Please, Jack, just touch me. Just once – I'm so close, you only have to –"

His fingers slide against her, rough and dry, but it doesn't matter. She cries out, the kick of her orgasm on her blindingly fast. Jack slips two fingers into her as she comes, maybe just to feel her tighten around him. Nadia doesn't care. He can do whatever he wants.

While she lies on the floor, still panting for breath, Jack gets up. When he returns to her, he has the handcuff key in one hand and a tumbler of water in the other. She accepts both her freedom and the water, and for a few moments they sit side-by-side, saying nothing. Nadia is half-naked; he's still completely dressed, if rumpled.

"So," Nadia tries at last. "Partners."

"For now. If you betray me again –"

"It won't go any better than if you betray me again."

He looks skeptical – but she thinks he liked the challenge.

They go to bed together just to sleep, and Jack cuffs their wrists together before turning out the lights; nobody is slipping out unnoticed tomorrow morning. They lie on their stomachs, hands touching a little.

Jack falls asleep fairly quickly. Nadia lies awake longer, thinking of everything that happened, everything Jack told her. Her mother, Sydney's murderer – and Jack, willing to die at her grave anyway.

Tonight, she manipulated Jack; she knows it's even easier to manipulate someone with the truth than with lies. He's going to do exactly what she wanted him to do – tomorrow, he's going to give her those keys for her meeting with Larisa. Nadia won't betray him. She doesn't have to when he's doing what she wants.

But Jack dominated her too, mentally, emotionally and – she smiles a little, feeling the traces of him on her naked thighs – sexually. Which one of them has more power now?

Then she wonders whether they haven't both surrendered far more than they ever intended.

**Part Four**

Nadia awakens when Jack's hand tugs hers, via the handcuffs.

She thinks they open their eyes at the same time, blinking at each other from the white billows of the bed; Nadia is deliciously warm and comfortable, considering she's chained to her lover. What had seemed only practical last night – cuffing each other – seems both funny and sexy this morning, and Nadia knows Jack will be able to hear both emotions in her laugh.

He doesn't smile – not quite. But she can tell Jack's pleased by the change in alliances. This makes her happy, though Nadia would like to think that's only because the alliance will hold.

Maybe that's not the only reason.

Slowly she pulls his hand toward her, caressing her own breast a moment before his palm makes contact. Jack breathes out as she shifts closer to him so that his thighs brush hers, so that her head is nestled against his chest. Against her belly she can feel the evidence that he is very much awake.

He strokes the curve of her waist and hips, her hand trailing along behind. Her touch is almost as erotic as his.

Then he stops. "We can't allow ourselves to be distracted."

She slides one foot between his ankles. "Good morning to you, too."

"Nadia." Jack's voice is firm. "Later."

It's the first hint either of them has ever given that they might like for this to continue, after this mission. Nadia doesn't know whether or not she agrees – she knows she'll still want him, but it might not be wise to keep pushing their luck – but it's nice to be certain that they'll be negotiating. She likes negotiating with Jack.

She smiles and gives in. "Later."

**

The meeting with Larisa goes smoothly enough; Nadia talks with the woman for almost an hour in Gorky Park. She never stops looking for Jack. She never sees him. And yet she knows he's watching. When Larisa is gone, she simply starts walking, knowing he will fall into step beside her. Within five minutes, he does.

"Have you called for a plane?" she asks. "Or did your lip-reading skills fail you? We're going to Tokyo."

"You should call your father." Stung, Nadia glares at Jack; he quickly adds, "I only meant – you need to cover your tracks."

"He won't be surprised if I fly commercial from Moscow to Tokyo; this trip shouldn't show up in CIA records, anyway. And he probably won't check the manifest for any of your known aliases."

"I have names he doesn't know."

Nadia finds herself smiling. "I think perhaps you do."

Everything goes smoothly until they get on the plane, when – for the first time ever with Jack – Nadia begins to feel awkward. She and Jack are, by all appearances, friendly business partners on a long journey; the passengers around them, mostly tired businessmen who either tap on their laptops or try to rest against tiny Styrofoam pillows, pay them no mind.

But she's never been with Jack without playing a role – unless, of course, they were in bed. After last night, Nadia doesn't have the safety and shielding of her games-playing to help her anymore. She wonders if Jack feels some of the same hesitation; given how seldom he meets her eyes, she thinks he does.

"Here." He turns the laptop around so that she can better see the screen, and he speaks in Portuguese, unlikely to be understood by anyone nearby. "The floor plan of the Midori-Kan building. If we go in from the rooftop, the room we'll want is beneath the parasol garden."

"Should be vents." Nadia nods. "Good. That seems like a plan. Why did you let me get to you?"

"What?"

"I think you heard me." The element of surprise is hers again, but Nadia doesn't feel the slightest urge to smile. "You knew Irina's tricks. Even before you knew what I was doing – you suspected. So why did you let yourself get so close?"

Jack may tell her to go to hell; that's the risk she took. It seems worth the risk, to know.

He leans his seat back, like the other tired businessmen, and adjusts the small pillow beneath his head. Just as Nadia thinks he's going to close his eyes and ignore her, Jack says, "Knowing your vulnerabilities isn't the same as being invulnerable."

Nadia swallows hard. "I'll remember that."

"Yes, you will." Jack almost seems amused – but he is closing his eyes now, preparing to sleep for real. "But it won't make any difference."

**

The city lights of Tokyo catch the parasols – red and green and blue, brilliant even in darkness. Nadia and Jack might be the shadows they cast, wavering darkness at the edges of the rooftop. They say nothing to one another as they work, their movements in perfect concert: lifting the top grid of the vent, destabilizing the security grid, hollowing out a passageway. But as Nadia puts one leg in to go first, Jack grabs her arm, holding her fast.

"You don't trust me?" She raises an eyebrow. Jack's dark cap is pulled down over his gray, and she wonders what he looked like when he was young, Irina's husband and prey, with black hair.

"As far as you trust me. But there could be more alarms, further into the building. Getting out will be harder than getting in."

It takes Nadia a moment to realize that Jack wants to go first to protect her. Her cheeks burn, as though he had embarrassed her, and she says only, "I can handle it."

Maybe Jack, too, regrets his impulse, because he doesn't fight her as she drops into the building. She hears him behind her, but only because she's listening. Jack's good at sneaking around – Nadia's only a little bit better.

Fortunately, the museum is closed for the construction of a new, secondary building; security is tighter on the outside, more lax on the inside. Once Nadia and Jack are inside the building, they don't have to worry about video cameras or live guards, and the laser grid is standard commercial-grade, easily defused.

"Why couldn't we have broken into a museum with jewels?" Nadia frowns at a display of computer technology circa 1979; a man made of plaster sits at a desk with an enormous keyboard and a tiny monitor. "We could have gone shopping."

"I'm not a jewel thief."

"I can see I'll have to look elsewhere for a sugar daddy."

It's just a joke, a fairly half-hearted one at that, but Jack gives her a glare as though he doesn't like the idea of her with another man. Her belly flutters pleasantly, and Nadia wonders if there's any way he'd be coaxed into making love to her here, now, in the museum. She doesn't follow through on the thought – not in her most fevered desire has Nadia been crazed enough to consider endangering herself or Jack to that degree. But it's a delicious mental image, one she'll savor later: the two of them, peeling off each other's black, lost in shadows, fucking hard against the wall.

Then Jack finds the doorway that leads to the research areas of the museum, and the time for daydreaming is over. He lets her manipulate the wires to expose the inner workings of the lock; she lets him crack the security code. They know each other's talents.

The door slides open, they step inside – and there it is. The Sphere of Life.

Nadia sighs, caught up once again in the sheer beauty of it. Mother of pearl coats the petal-like panels, glittery swirls of palest pink and green. The golden framework has been cleaned since she found the Sphere with her father, by someone who took loving care; every scroll and ridge shines now. She wants to touch it, and yet she doesn't dare; nothing has ever transformed Nadia's life as the Sphere has.

"Where are the locks?" Jack says. He appears devoid of any sense of wonder at all. Nadia wonders if he has a natural immunity to Rambaldi, the way some people do to sickness.

"Each side. The jade goes in at our left, the onyx at our right."

All this time, Jack has held both keys, but now he holds out the onyx one to her. It's unnecessary – he could easily reach both locks – but Nadia understands that he is giving her a gesture of trust. They'll do this together.

That, or he's trying to lull her into a false sense of security. In either case, her best move is to take the onyx key, so she does.

Stone can clatter against metal, so they insert the keys slowly; Jack nods, and they each turn. The Sphere's panels open like a crocus, revealing the fluttering parchment within. Rambaldi's handwriting is both alien and familiar at once. "You have a camera, right?" Her voice is shaking, but let Jack hear it; she doesn't care if he knows her vulnerabilities, not if they aren't about him. "Tell me you have a camera."

"Better than that." Jack takes a small canister from his pack and opens it; inside are more pages of parchment, handwriting eerily like Rambaldi's own. Nadia doubts anybody but the Passenger could tell the difference. "Two sets of fakes, identical to each other. One for the museum staff, if they're ever able to open it without the keys. The other, for your father. The prophecies inside are vague enough to keep him guessing for years."

Nadia takes the pages meant for her father and tries to treat them with the same care that she would the originals. Breathing in deeply, she memorizes the sense of elation and nervousness that grips her now so that she can recreate it for Sloane, when the time comes.

"You'll read these to me." Jack puts the real prophecies in the canister, and though his voice is flat, Nadia knows he's asked her a question.

"Yes. Oh – Jack, look –"

They peer in together at the temporarily empty sphere. A small enameled portrait is at the bottom, primitive as an image from the early Renaissance might be – but the face is familiar. Whether it's Sydney's or Nadia's or Irina's is hard to say.

"Your mother," Jack says, as if he's sure. But Nadia isn't sure of that at all.

**

Another night, another hotel room, but it feels as though they are far more than half a world away.

This room is the next step up from the fabled coffin hotels of Tokyo – there's barely room to stand between the wall and the bed. It doesn't matter. Jack sits with his back against the headboard as Nadia, cross-legged at the foot of the bed, reading their family's history to him as written centuries ago. It's all hidden in symbolism and flowery language, but to those who know that history, it's all clear.

Rambaldi knew that Irina would find Jack, and that their love would be based in a lie. He knew Sloane would always be there, always waiting, always watching, a fact that would gratify Nadia's father too much if he were ever to hear it. And Rambaldi knew that there would be two daughters, one the child of Irina's only love and one the child of her worst hate.

Nadia's words stumble there, and Jack touches her knee. "It's all right."

"You don't know that, and I don't either. At least, not until I get to the end of the prophecies." She keeps going, plowing on, until she gets to point where there are no certainties – only two choices. "Oh, God."

"What?"

"It says –" This would be a good time to start lying, but Nadia can't do it, not with Jack looking at her like that. Not with the truth dawning inside her, terrible and beautiful all at once. "It says that either the daughters – it says that either Sydney and I are destined to fight and kill one another –"

Jack stiffens, and Nadia wonders if she's going to live to say another word. But he doesn't move as he waits to hear more.

"—either that, or – or that our mother would die, at the hand of her only love." Tears prick at her eyes, and Nadia has to blink quickly to focus on Rambaldi's writing. "One of those prophecies would come true. But not both. Only one of them –"

"How could he know that?" For a moment, she thinks Jack will grab at the page and rip it into nothingness. "How could he know what Irina would –"

"Jack, think! Don't you see? You had so many chances to kill Irina – so many reasons – but you never did –" Nadia wipes at her cheeks. "My mother knew you would never kill her unless she gave you a reason more horrible than any of the others. And she knew if you didn't kill her, Sydney and I would kill each other. The only way she could save both her daughters –"

"—was by framing herself for Sydney's murder. By making certain that I would kill her."

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Nadia has always loved her mother, in abstract; now, what's been awakened is real. The loss is more acute now that Nadia realizes who and what her mother was – somebody brave, somebody fearless, somebody willing to die and to put Jack through hell to keep her children safe.

Jack is pale, and for the first time since the initial weeks of their acquaintance, Nadia is taken aback by how much older he is than her. He seems to have lost years, just in the past minute. "Why didn't she – if Irina had told me –"

"You would have let my mother live and tried to kill me." This fact doesn't make Nadia angry; it's just fact. "But you would have failed. Or you wouldn't have believed at all, and Sydney and I would have –"

"Don't."

He turns his face from her, and though Nadia knows Jack will not cry, she knows he's as close to it as she'll ever see him. Jack's love for Irina is something Nadia has known from the beginning – she's relied upon it – but the depth of it shakes her, now that she has to witness. She is too stricken for jealousy.

"You were working with her, even if you didn't know." Nadia isn't certain whether her words will help or hurt, but they might help, and she has to try. "You didn't do anything to her that – that she didn't accept –"

"Don't." Jack speaks more softly. "Put those away."

"The prophecies?" Stopping now seems unimaginable – but once Nadia considers it, she realizes how ready she is to let it go for just a moment. The weight of what they've learned is bearing down on her, and it must be even worse for Jack. What more could they bear to hear tonight? "All right."

Within a few minutes, the prophecies are back in their canister; Nadia has no fears that he'll abscond in the night with them. There are certain guarantees that come with being Rambaldi's one true translator. Jack begins undressing for bed as though Nadia weren't even in the room, and after a few moments, Nadia follows suit. She doesn't really feel like making love either – and, for the first time, she realizes how much comfort there will be in just sleeping by Jack's side.

My mother deceived him one last time, Nadia thinks. She manipulated him more brilliantly than I ever could have – and yet it was all for love, for me and Sydney, maybe for Jack too. The tangling of manipulation and love confuses her, and she finishes undressing with her eyes closed.

They get under the covers, turn out the light. Nadia snuggles against him, just for the warmth of his embrace, but when she touches him, everything changes. Jack's arms tighten around her, and then he kisses her – long and deep, taking his time. His hand caresses the side of her face, and he brushes his thumb down the curve of her throat.

Even as she kisses him back, even as he rolls so that his weight presses her down, Nadia thinks – something's not right.

But then he brings his mouth down to her breasts, and she forgets about anything but Jack's touch.

Tokyo's glittering lights filter in through the thin white curtain, each pulse brilliant with color; the sheets and their skin are touched with blue, then red, then gold. His tongue teases her breasts until Nadia is dizzy and gasping from that sensation alone – then his hand begins caressing her, sure and knowing. Nadia comes for him, a soft fluttering that feels more like a sigh than a shout, but feels blissful nonetheless. His only response is to kiss her again and keep touching her, every part of her – ears and belly, knees and shoulders – as if he could want nothing more than to be near her.

Jack's desperation is gone now, replaced perhaps only by the need to be near another person. Nadia doesn't dare hope, even now, that his need is for her and her alone. But there is something different in his touch tonight – the way he runs his fingers through her long hair, or massages her thighs as he goes down on her, or even the way he kisses. Jack is touching her without desperation, without guilt. He is touching her with love.

And that's when Nadia realizes what Jack's doing. He's making love to his wife.

She had thought that was what he was doing all along, of course; Nadia always thought of herself, first and foremost, as a substitute. Only now does she know how much Jack had given her of himself all along.

Maybe she should be hurt by this, but she's not. Nadia knows she's trapped in her own snare. And beyond that – for tonight, it's enough to console Jack in any way she can. That's her consolation, too.

So Nadia tries to be her mother for him, as he enters her and they move together in the silent dark. She lets him say goodbye.

**

"This is extraordinary," Sloane says, looking down at fake pages. "There are riddles – clues – we'll have to puzzle them out." He covers Nadia's hand with his. "We'll do it together."

She doesn't pull away. In some ways, her father's affection still warms her – she waited too long for him to be entirely unmoved by what's real in his love for her – but he has let Rambaldi twist him up into something he never had to be. Nadia will not follow him down that path.

Nor, for that matter, will she follow Jack. But she thinks Jack might be willing to travel beside her.

"Believe me, I'm as eager to study these prophecies as you are," she says. "But – after Finland, and Moscow, and Japan –"

"You're tired." He kisses her on the cheek; she submits to it. "I'm surprised you kept going as long as you did. Take the night off. Tomorrow too, if you want it. Now we have all the time in the world."

"Thanks," Nadia says, and she means it.

At home, Sydney's in a good mood; she's going to Vaughn's later and seems to have recaptured a certain giddy excitement in his company. As Nadia sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches Sydney brush her teeth, she decides it's as good a time as any to say it: "You should know – Jack told me. About our mother."

Sydney's brushing slows only a little bit. Her sister is a better card player than Nadia realized. After spitting out some foam, Sydney says, "Told you what?"

"That he killed her. And why." As Sydney turns to her, horror and shock in her features, Nadia quickly takes her hand. "I understand that he had to save your life. And I don't blame him for protecting you, or you for protecting him."

"Okay." Sydney finishes her brushing, obviously on autopilot. She's done before she can say, "I can't believe he told you."

"He knew the lie was troubling you." Nadia spins the tale easily; after the work she's done the past several months, this is child's play. "For your sake, he felt he had to tell me. Of course, he hid my weapons first."

The joke only makes Sydney's face crumple, but she doesn't cry. "I didn't think he understood how much that hurt. Lying to you."

Jack understands lying to Nadia very well, but Sydney doesn't need to know. Nadia smiles. "He understands more than you think. And the murder – that hurt him more than you realize."

"I should talk to him." The words rush out, revealing to Nadia how much her sister has missed Jack, after all. "Maybe I could call –"

"Tomorrow. He's got jet lag, and you've got a date. But I think he'd like that, tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Sydney agrees. Then she hugs Nadia tightly. "I love you."

Nadia closes her eyes and returns the hug. "I love you too."

After Sydney leaves, Nadia goes to her cell phone and taps in a series of numbers that she and Jack worked out in Moscow as an emergency code. Then she sets it aside and blithely ignores the incoming call as she runs herself a hot bath. Some of Sydney's scented bath oils are shanghaied for the cause, and Nadia has twisted her hair up into a not, tossed aside her dressing gown and immersed herself in the steaming, fragrant water long before she hears the door open.

"Hi," Nadia calls. "Wondered when you'd get here."

Jack appears in the bathroom doorway, looking exhausted and grumpy, his gun still at the ready for the attackers that obviously aren't at hand. His face relaxes as he sees Nadia, but his voice is still hard as he says, "That number was for emergencies."

"It is an emergency. Just not the kind you were expecting." Nadia drapes one of her ankles over the side of the tub. "But I could use some help."

He puts his gun away. Instead of coming to her side, though, he leans against the bathroom wall, his suit and tie incongruous in the intimacy of her bath. "You understand tactics well enough to know that our mutual best move is to end our affair."

"Mmm-hmmm." She squeezes the sea sponge underwater, sending little fizzy jets against her belly, then lifts it up to rinse her arms. "But I called. And you came."

"I thought you were in danger."

Nadia ignores this bit of truth. "You haven't left, have you?" Their eyes meet through the steam-fogged air, and she adds, more softly, "Don't leave."

Jack doesn't move a muscle, and his expression never changes. But the very fact that he doesn't immediately turn and walk out tells Nadia that he's not leaving tonight. She smiles, even as he says, "I admit, I don't see your game."

"You'll need more time to study the rules."

"And you're not – afraid?" Jack's hand rests on the knot of his tie, slowly pulling it loose with the hiss of silk on silk. "That I don't have a game of my own?"

Nadia wonders if he's thought of as many uses for that tie in the past 30 seconds as she has. "Not afraid. But curious."

"Sydney –"

"Won't be back tonight."

Her heart is thumping harder now, so much that she expects the surface of the water to ripple. The tie is loose in Jack's hand, and he considers her as intensely as if he had never seen her naked before. "I think you should get out of the bathtub."

"I think you should get in."

They fight this battle and many others, for hours, in the bathroom, on the couch and in her bed.

**

As Jack sleeps, Nadia gets up and puts on her robe. Although she should be at Jack's side, as deeply asleep as he is, adrenalin keeps her awake. She considers warm milk or a glass of wine – but when she looks at her laptop, she knows the real reason she's awake, what it is she wants to do.

She puts on her headphones and begins watching her mother's interrogation again. Now that Nadia knows the truth about her mother – the one truth that really matters – she has to look at Irina Derevko's face once more. This time, perhaps, she'll see her mother differently.

"Comrade Derevko, you aren't being honest with us." The interrogators don't appear on-camera; Nadia's mother is alone, and if she does not look afraid, she looks desperate. "You give us these fabricated reasons for leaving Bristow alive –"

"My reasons were valid. I've explained my strategy –"

"Strategy. A poor word from a woman who betrayed her mission by falling in love."

Her mother says nothing, but there is an odd light in her eyes – as if, perhaps, she'd always thought her love for Jack Bristow was something she could leave behind, like Sydney and Jack themselves. Something that would hurt to let go of – but something she could let go. And instead, that love trapped her and defined her, not merely in this interrogation but for the rest of her life.

Nadia remembers the way she melts beneath Jack's touch, the expression on his face before he kissed her as he fell asleep tonight. For the first time, she realizes the perfection of her mother's traps, both the ones she created and the ones she fell into. Irina Derevko meant for Jack to love her, and he did. She didn't realize that love would ensnare her too. Too late, Nadia knows that she's been on her mother's path all along – and as she shared in her mother's triumph, now she shares in this part of her downfall.

All this time, Nadia has meant to capture her mother's shadows. But instead those shadows have captured her.

 

THE END


End file.
